


The Warrior's Dancer:  Sienn's Tale

by evilmouse



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Cowgirl Position, Dancing, Doggy Style, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Force Sensitivity, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, It's hard work seducing a Jedi, Jedi Luke Skywalker, Kissing, Language Kink, Missing Scene, Movie: Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Rare Pairings, Rimming, Ryloth | Twi'lek, See it's there you just gotta get to it, Skip to the last quarter if you just want the porn, Tales from Jabba's Palace, Tatooine (Star Wars), The Erotic Adventures of Luke Skywalker, The Force, Twi'leks (Star Wars), Xenophilia, lekku, that was supposed to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-23 23:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19711984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmouse/pseuds/evilmouse
Summary: She had fled her fortune and future, run away with a stranger.  Abandoned Oola in the sweltering desert.She didn’t regret the decision, strangely enough.  Yet even now Sienn didn’t quite understand what had made her do it—why she had trusted the man in the cloak, whose blue eyes were as striking as they were unsettling.





	1. Warrior

**Author's Note:**

> Comments on my drabble in the fic [Common Thread](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18570700/chapters/44020681) got me thinking about Luke and Oola...if she hadn't been eaten, ah the possibilities. Then the brilliant [frangipani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frangipani/pseuds/frangipani) reminded me of Kathy Tyers' [Oola short story](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/A_Time_to_Mourn,_a_Time_to_Dance:_Oola%27s_Tale) in the Tales from Jabba's Palace collection and the [other Twi'lek dancer.](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sienn'rha>) So this was written in my never-ending quest to hook Luke up with any woman he's not related to...
> 
> Props to my fab beta [JadeDjo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeDjo/pseuds/JadeDjo) for her logical perspective and understanding my need to be illogical at times.

The room smelled like a Rycrit cattle pen. There was nothing to do about it though. Sienn tried not to smell. Or think. It was harder than it should be, to shut off her brain and her senses. 

Her lekku hurt. 

They had burned since Bib Fortuna’s groomers had scarred them forever with crude floral designs, winding from her temples to the tips. She’d hoped, as she’d sat there suffering, that the tattoos would be pretty. Oola held her hand, letting her squeeze to the point of pain when the agony of the needle’s work threatened to draw out a scream. How she had envisioned them—elegant, something of status, worth the misery and eternal damage to her nerves. 

They weren’t. Amateurish and clumsy, the lines connecting the flowers were prettier than the blossoms themselves. Sienn wondered if she would ever be considered desirable enough to dance again, with ruined lekku. Or, almost as an afterthought, if the pain would ever stop. Only yesterday, she had wondered if the great Jabba the Hutt would know enough about Twi’lek beauty to discard her, ban her from his court for her imperfections.

It didn’t matter now, did it? She had fled her fortune and future, run away with a stranger. Abandoned Oola in the sweltering desert.

She didn’t regret the decision, strangely enough. Yet even now Sienn didn’t quite understand what had made her do it—why she had trusted the man in the cloak, whose blue eyes were as striking as they were unsettling.

Some Twi’lek had blue eyes, it was true—there was a great variety among her race. But not his pure shade. Even the breathtaking gems of the celebrated Floating Rock Gardens didn’t gleam with the same cerulean fire. Sienn herself was gifted with dark hazel eyes, and she was vain about them. Large and rounded, flecked with green, brown, and gold, once a trader had told her they reminded him of Lothalian autumn—sharp and beautiful like a spine tree in a forest.

How different would her life have been if that trader had bought her services instead of a famous crime lord? If she had been destined for another who didn’t inspire fear, but vanity?

Why did she trust the blue-eyed stranger?

Sienn rubbed her sore temples, pushing away the question. She _did_ trust him, that was what mattered, and it wouldn’t do to consider what she’d sacrificed to escape. 

Focus on something else, anything else. The heat. Yes, it was blistering on this planet. But this tiny room was relatively cool, if rank. And she supposed she could even focus on the smell she’d been trying so hard to ignore. That was woefully distracting. 

The stench of organic waste floated through the narrow rectangular windows of the dim room.

Sienn wrinkled her nose, stretched her long-nailed fingers. The room. She could focus on the room. It was dirty, but not in the way the stench outside was dirty. There were different kinds of filth. Desert locales just felt uncleanable, at least on Ryloth. The same seemed true of Tatooine. 

Sand coated every surface, even the thin bedcover. She’d lain down, unthinking, shortly after the man had left her. The grit on the pillow had hurt her lekku—the tattoos were too fresh to have healed, and the abrasion was immediate and intense. She quickly sat up, blinking back tears. Yes, the bed was dirty.

The room had an attached, cramped refresher that smelled worse than the outdoors. Sienn held her breath and evaluated. There were no windows, no ventilation. She didn’t need to use it, and hoped that was how things stayed.

He had told her to wait, to rest. She hadn’t understood a word, of course, but knew the sense of it, nonetheless. It was odd, but Sienn didn’t question her impressions. 

Sometimes things just came to her, and she had long ago learned to trust them. Like when he’d spoken to her in that encouraging voice as she hid beneath the sailcloth. Oola hadn’t believed him, but Sienn instantly had. The man was earnest, kind, and she liked him. She was safe now.

He’d brought her here, spoken to her the whole time, calm, soothing. Confident. Yet somehow Sienn could tell he was worried. But not about her. 

Maybe about Oola. 

Sienn had run, run as fast as she’d ever run in her life when Oola screamed at her to go. Her heart had twisted in her chest, her already-damaged lekku scraping against the harsh fabric of the man’s cloak around her shoulders as she bolted from the scene.

And the man had come to her after, alone. No Oola.

She’d tried to understand, cried her misery, but it didn’t help. He was good at communicating his own feelings, but not at interpreting her words. Sienn didn’t know how, but she felt his sadness too. His regret. He was sorry he hadn’t rescued both of them, but he was content that Sienn, at least, was safe. She didn’t think he thought Oola was safe, though. His eyes turned pained when she pleaded with him, her own concern for her friend devastating. He didn’t know Ryl, Sienn was certain, but he eventually seemed to understand her feelings; just like he helped her understand his…

He made her feel protected.

She reflected on what little she knew about him. His bravery. His weapon. The weapon of an ancient warrior—she’d heard stories about this kind of glowing sword. He was strong, although he didn’t look it. He had proven he could defend her. She had made the right decision. Sienn knew it, but it didn’t lessen the tightness in her chest or the searing ache in her lekku.

There was a noise outside the door. Sienn grabbed the man’s cloak from the bed, tugging it around her pale yellow outfit, and quickly rolled under the creaky bedframe. She was tired, but she retained her dancer’s reflexes and grace. She would not be discovered if Rudd came back. She would not go to Jabba’s now.

“Ki’uk…”

It was him. Sienn smiled briefly at his pronunciation of her language. Where had he learned this phrase? How recently? She didn’t recall him speaking a word of Ryl when he had approached them at midday.

She rolled just as smoothly out from under the bed, springing to her feet.

The black-clad man offered a weak smile, a tired look. His face was tan and chapped from the desert. Sand clung in dusty trails to his clothing, outlining the wrinkles of his pants. His black boots were dulled, as were his eyes, clouded like a gutkurr’s shell.

She wondered what he had been doing all this time.

“Ki’uk,” she returned, speaking clearly and hoping he would understand. Perhaps introductions were possible, if he was staying for a few minutes. “Jinqa ohk dan?”

He tilted his head slightly, like he was listening to something beneath the surface of her words rather than the phrase itself. Sienn had thought his hair was brown, but here in the room, she saw it was lighter, streaks of color not dissimilar from the desert outside hiding amongst the darker strands.

“Again?” he asked, and she didn’t know what the word meant, but recognized a question.

“Jinqa ohk dan?” she repeated, taking care to enunciate each word. “Do ohk Sienn,” she continued, in her language, holding her palm to her chest. “Sienn.”

“Sienn,” the man said carefully, looking to her hand, then her face. “Sienn. I remember. She called you that, didn’t she?” 

He seemed a bit defeated, although Sienn was pretty sure they were making progress. So she nodded helpfully, then pat the mattress of the dingy bed, trying to indicate he should sit. She was nonetheless surprised when he obeyed, his lithe body settling heavily onto the desert-dusted surface.

“Do. Ohk. Sienn,” she said again, repeating the gesture.

Those unnaturally blue eyes looked at her, a bit more alive than before, and he nodded, agreeing with her introduction. Sienn felt helpless for a moment, but then…

“Do ohk Luke.” The man laid a hand on his own chest, imitating her gesture, and Sienn suddenly remembered the sound of his name. Oola had said it. Luke. Luke. It was a nice name. Unusual, but simple. It could almost be a Twi’lek name. How had Oola known who he was? It was too complicated a question to ask, and she supposed she should be happy they had gotten this far.

“Luke.” She acknowledged his name with relief. Impulsively, Sienn rested her hand atop his, careful to keep her sharp nails lifted. He startled at the touch, then relaxed. She watched, trying to read him, remember what her teachers had taught her about body language. 

_Please your client._

_Do not intimidate._

_Do not push._

_Ask favors only after you’ve earned them._

“Luke,” she said again, then moved her hand back to herself. “Sienn.”

“Yes, I got it,” he smiled again, his lips cracked and dry. “Your name is Sienn. Nice to meet you.”

She didn’t understand, but his voice was pleasant, and he seemed more relaxed than when he’d first returned to the room. Knowing there wasn’t much they could discuss, she let out a small sigh to show her ease, then nimbly sat down on the bed facing him, legs folded in an elegant twist.

He scooted a short distance away, still facing her.

“I’m going to get you out of here, but it’s bad timing at the moment.” Sienn listened to the words, uncomprehending and eyes wide—the universal expression of a lost tourist or poor student. Luke continued, undaunted. “The Alliance is working on a transport, trying to find someone already in the sector. But it’s not likely to be soon. Maybe a couple days.”

Sienn smiled, because she sensed his discouragement and wanted to show she was fine, she was grateful. Whatever was wrong, it was not his fault, she was certain of that. She had always been attuned to people—trainers, friends, clients. But this man was different. It was easier to feel his emotions, somehow. It made her like him more, to have such a warrior also demonstrate such feeling.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t take you myself. There’s too much already in motion, and well…the timing…” He trailed off. The dissonant tones from his throat sounded more and more disheartened, and Sienn tried not to think about what that might mean. For her, for her future. For Oola.

“Luke,” she soothed, then put a hand on his shoulder. He had done the same when he’d rescued her. Luke looked at her long fingers curiously, but didn’t pull away or say anything, his gaze returning to her face. Sienn tried to send reassurance to him, silently. Sometimes she could calm fussy babies or angry patrons with a touch. Luke’s eyes widened, his lips parted and his neck tensed as he stared. Something changed in his expression, and Sienn couldn’t decide if he was surprised or upset.

She tried to explain more in Ryl.

“I don’t understand you,” she began, “but you rescued me. You are a warrior. You will save Oola. I will help. I can be a decoy.” She indicated her body with a graceful sweep of her other hand. “I will dance, distract your enemies. I will make her believe in you. She’s my friend, and she should have come with us.”

The words came out in a rush, and Luke's head was cocked like he was listening, but she could tell the sense was beyond him. Sienn patted his shoulder reassuringly, and then returned her hand to her lap. Surely she could remember some of her tutor’s Basic lessons. Anything at all. Sienn searched her memory, until finally a phrase appeared.

“Ahdo no speek Basic, Luke,” she said, with a strong accent but no shyness.

Luke grinned, shaking off the strange look he’d worn a moment ago, and then replied, “Do sahak tailor Ryl.”

Sienn grinned back, almost forgetting the pain in her head and fear in her heart. The human was handsome when he smiled. How nice that not all of them were repulsive, cruel, or ugly like Rudd. And he was trying to speak her language. It was a good sign.

She corrected him.

“Do sahak _tilor_ Ryl.”

He ran a tanned hand through his windblown hair, looking slightly embarrassed. “Do sahak tilor Ryl. I’m sorry. I don’t know anything else in your language.”

Again she marveled at Luke’s ability to convey feelings. She felt his apology more than understood the words, and she shook her head.

“San’kyu,” she said, unearthing the sounds from long-forgotten and buried memories. “San’kyu, Luke,” she said again, certain that it was the right word.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, brow furrowing to accompany his serious tone. “Stay here a little longer, Sienn. I’m going to go get us some dinner.” Luke stood up, clearly planning to leave her once more. “I heard Twi’leks aren’t picky, I hope that’s true.”

Sienn offered him back his cloak. She wouldn’t want to wear it in this box-like room. There seemed no chance of getting cold, in any case. And he probably wanted anonymity. That’s why people wore hoods and cloaks, after all. The dark memory of shadowy donors visiting her school, cowled patrons silently observing from dim alcoves winked into her mind, and she shook it away. Dances performed for the nameless were often unpleasant, but paid well. 

Luke hadn’t taken the cloak, his chin turned slightly downwards, his eyes fixed upon her as if he’d sensed her emotional regression. Flustered, Sienn shook the heavy cloth at him. Nodding, he accepted the material from her hand and quickly fastened it, pulling the hood over his head.

“Food,” he explained, patting his stomach for emphasis. “Don’t go anywhere, all right?” The words were familiar but she couldn’t attach meaning to them.

“San’kyu Luke,” she said again, giving him a little wave as he made to leave the squalid room.

He gave her a little salute back, and the door closed, hanging unevenly in the clay-molded frame of the entrance. The size of the space reminded her of the dormitory she and Oola had shared back on Ryloth, at dancing school. 

Her parents had been so proud when she’d been accepted to the famous Nijin’skii Academy. Sienn had grown up poor, not born to a chieftain’s family like Oola’s, and her relatives couldn’t afford to live anywhere but the Nightlands. They were called ‘darksiders,’ the Twi’lek who dwelt in Ryloth’s permanent night. 

Although the term was an insult, among the upper classes, it was a label that Sienn didn’t mind. She thought there was poetry to being a darksider, and when asked, she never lied about her origins. She even told her dancing mistress, Cyvia, that she was considering a professional name of “Kairn,” which meant ‘dark’ in her language. The teacher had laughed, saying with her pale orange skin no one would accept such an obviously misleading stage name.

“False advertising,” Mistress Cyvia pronounced. “Choose another.” In defiance, she’d chosen ‘Sienn,’ a word that meant ‘maiden,’ another case of false advertising… But this lie was one the Mistress had approved of, laughing when she told her of the selection.

“If you are going to lie to the patrons,” Cyvia chuckled, “good to make it something you can profit from, girl.” She swatted Sienn’s rump as she walked away, but the other dancers had glared at her, disapproving. 

Her teachers at the Academy didn’t care if she was truly a maiden, or where she was from. She trained with Oola, one of the best dancers in six generations. Sienn had a natural talent, and being partnered with Oola was a source of significant pride for herself and her clan. She would be a celebrated artist, and bring honor and acclaim to her people. They were always presented as a duo, with Oola the worldly, tough girl, and Sienn the nubile ingénue. They performed perfectly, the exaggerated characters becoming a part of them, their dances reflecting the dark and light, the corrupted and virginal. They were exquisite together. And they were friends.

That was before everything went to ruin. The shady transport, the tattoos, being treated more as slaves than artists. Rudd had clearly thought she owed him a debt, groping her openly in the speeder. Sienn tried not to think about that. No, she wasn’t an innocent, but she shuddered at the memory of his sweaty fingers wandering between her thighs. So much to block, so much to bury in her mind. It hurt. 

Her eyes stung suddenly, and Sienn wiped them, feeling grit scrape against the lids. Angry at herself, she took a deep breath, held it, and stalked into the refresher. The sonic was loud and at least twenty seasons old, but it washed away the sand on her hands and face. When she had finished, Sienn raced back to the small bedroom’s slightly less polluted air. She could be useful, she supposed, while waiting for Luke to return. 

First, she pulled the lumpy cover from the bed and shook it out next to the wall. Sand pooled on the floor in grainy puddles. Her lekku twitched as some dusted against her freshly tattooed skin. A quick glance at the stained sheet on the mattress told her the bedspread had done its job, prevented more sand from getting underneath. She put the cover back on the bed and smoothed it, looking around for something else to occupy herself. The reek from outdoors was still strong, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. If only she had some perfume. Somehow Sienn doubted the denizens of this world had ever seen a Horrok lily, much less turned one into that delicate fragrance popular among her people.

Wiping her hands on her pant legs, she winced as her lekku brushed against the hood of her yellow suit again. Something was definitely not right. Sienn forced herself back to the refresher, alarmed to see that the thick middle of the tchun was bleeding along one of the flowered vines inked there. She swallowed back the bile in her throat at the heavy, rotten air and tried to clean herself with the sonic. It didn’t help, and the chemical wash stung even worse. Biting back tears, she didn’t hear the door open this time.

“Ki’uk…”

Sienn jumped at the sound, then burst into sobs of stress and relief when she saw it was Luke. He was holding a pink box, and looked almost as upset as she was at her reaction to his return. 

He made some noises, she supposed they were soothing words of some sort, but Sienn didn’t know how she could possibly respond. Shaking her head at him, she moved back into the sleeping area. He stepped aside, his boots muted on the mud floor, saying something else in that low, controlled tone.

The bed was now as neat as it could get, so she headed there, making sure to wipe her feet clean of sand before folding her legs to sit. The tears were coming still, but she ignored them, trying to find dignity as well as calm. She wondered what Luke was saying, his voice soft and the words a steady constant, but it probably didn’t matter. In her experience, men weren’t very good at consolation. Still, she was better with him there. He would protect her. Take care of her. And his presence did feel stabilizing, despite the tears streaming down her cheeks and the burning in her throat.

As her sobs subsided, Luke put the box on the edge of the bed and opened it. A rush of spicy smells penetrated the dry air, thankfully overtaking the unpleasant odors wafting in from the alley outside. Food. Sienn was ravenous, and hadn’t realized it. She tried to smile at Luke, but thought it probably wasn’t very convincing.

“Here.” 

He pushed it over to her, and she wondered if ‘here’ meant ‘eat’ in his language. It sounded like a word she had once learned.

There were eating sticks wedged into the side of the box. She’d seen them used in holofilms, but hadn’t ever used them herself. Inside the box, a mixture of unnameable colors and motley textures greeted her. No matter, it looked edible, and she was hungry. 

She tried to use the eating sticks and quickly gave up. They fit oddly in her hand, and she felt them cramping her joints almost immediately. Instead she dipped two fingers inside, but the food was too hot. Sienn dropped a yellow circlet back into the box at the burn, and rolled her eyes at Luke. She hoped it conveyed her sense of being foolish, and not exasperation with his food choice. She should have used her fingernails—

He picked up the sticks.

“Here.”

That word again. Luke tried to show her how to hold them properly, but Sienn shook her head. Maybe another time. Right now she was trying to ignore the pain in her head and the hole in her guts and the ache in her chest, and learning to eat with sticks seemed worse than impossible.

One of Luke’s eyebrows raised slightly, considering. He kicked off his boots abruptly and sat cross-legged across from her. 

Picking up the dropped yellow vegetable with ease, he blew on it, and offered it to her lips.

Sienn accepted. It was very good. She looked with shining eyes back at the box. Luke laughed, a sound she hadn’t heard from him before, and one she liked. 

“Delicious, right? This guy, he’s from Bilar, seems to get amazing produce every week. I don’t know how he pays for it, since he isn’t ripping off his customers at his booth, but—”

Sienn listened to him ramble without comprehending and let him feed her more bites of the spicy food. Her stomach rumbled and Luke produced a flask.

“Water.”

That word she knew, although she didn’t know how.

“San’kyu.” She drank, almost finishing the flask before she realized it. Apologetic, she returned it, but Luke didn’t seem to mind. He wasn’t eating though, and she tried to remember the Basic word for ‘eat,’ pleased when it came to her—after all he’d just used it, hadn’t he?

“Here,” she thrust the box in his direction.

“You done already?” His eyebrows lifted in surprise, then he shrugged, taking a few pieces for himself. 

Sienn was happy he understood, and watched him eat with fascination. Luke was skilled with the eating sticks, even for the smaller and rounded pieces of food. It was very interesting, and she tried to memorize how he was holding them in case she needed to learn later. Maybe humans preferred sticks to Twi’lek cutlery. There was a certain elegance to it, she supposed, and decided next time she would let him teach her rather than giving up.

Luke noticed her attention, and seemed a bit self-conscious, but soon the box was empty. Sienn was still hungry, but it was all right—a warrior needed more energy than she did. She wondered who he really was, and where he learned to fight with an ancient weapon.

He didn’t look like most fighters she had seen back on Ryloth. Luke was small compared to them, his body more like a dancer in Mistress Cyvia’s corps than the humanoids she had seen practicing martial arts and aggressive sports. His fingers were long too, like a Nalargon player’s…strong, but graceful, like the rest of him. 

She was staring, but made no attempt to hide her interest. Maybe he was some sort of nobility, or knight like in the stories she’d heard as a child. Maybe his entire homeworld was made up of warrior classes, refined and deadly. Perhaps his was the heroic sect, dedicated to service and rescue. Sienn smiled at her own imagination and Luke noticed, returning the look as he collapsed the box. He had saved her, wherever he came from or whoever his people were.

Sienn wracked her brain for something to ask, to say, but she hadn’t paid enough attention to her Basic tutor to come up with anything useful. 

“Chee,” she pointed a taloned finger at him. “Birtan,” she pointed at herself. Luke looked confused, lines deepening around his mouth, so she reached for his weapon to show what she was trying to convey.

“Hey, stop that,” Luke stood up, shrugging off his cloak and stepping away. He hung it on a hook on the wall that she hadn’t noticed. “That’s dangerous.”

“Chee,” she said again. He was a warrior. He could help Oola, if it wasn’t too late.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand, Sienn,” he said. And she understood that, at least. At least he didn’t sound impatient. He was paying attention, despite not knowing her meaning.

“Birtan,” she repeated, trying to explain. “Sienn ohk a birtan. Luke ohk a chee.” He looked blankly at her, and she could sense growing frustration, even though his face stayed unlined.

She stood up too, then, and started performing a variation of the Waker’s Dance. It was a popular piece, one she’d known since she was a child. But this version was more sensual, one that only the most gifted dancers were allowed to learn lest they dishonor its origins. Her muscles flexed, her bare arms waving as she glided around the room. Luke watched, a distant look in his eyes, but they closely followed her movements as she spun and pranced lightly in the small space. 

“Birtan,” she finished with a flourish at his feet. He had tracked her steps, and she was certain he had liked what he saw. But now Luke crossed his arms, and she sensed resistance, whether to her art or the language lesson she was unsure.

“Dancing. You dance.” He nodded, as if it were clear to him already. “Jabba likes his slave girls to dance, Sienn. I’m glad…” He trailed off, and she didn’t know his meaning, but didn’t care. She twirled very slowly, close to him, a pirouette that ended with one foot perched over her bent knee.

“Birtan.”

“Birtan,” he agreed. “Very nice dancing, Sienn.”

“Chee,” she tried again, poking a finger in the center of his chest. “Luke.”

“Chee,” he repeated, but she didn’t feel his understanding as before. “If you say so.”

Sienn mimicked his movements with his weapon from earlier, his stance, his whirling defense against the blaster bolts. His surprise was evident, but Luke again watched without comment. It was another dance, to parry imaginary foes and leap over pretend obstacles in tribute to his agile defense. She finished with a pivot against his flank, pointing to his hanging hilt.

“Chee.”

“All right, Sienn. Chee. I don’t know if that’s me or fighting or lightsaber, but I’m sure you’re right.” Luke sighed softly, running a hand through his hair and shaking loose some sand onto the floor. “You know, you move—” He seemed to lose his voice, staring at her then as if she’d grown another head. For some reason, it frightened her, reminding her how she’d gotten here.

“Oola…” Saying the name made her sad again, and Sienn fought back tears. She continued speaking, trying to make him understand, asking him to help, and Luke listened, his exasperation gone. She sat on the bed and he stood before her, that patient expression never changing as she explained their shared history and how worried she was. When she finished, she took a long, hitching breath, and looked up at him, hoping for a miracle of communication.

Silent for a long moment, Luke sat down next to her and took one of her hands in both of his.

“Sienn…” he said quietly, “you have a gift…and it’s not just dancing.” And then he sent her a wave of emotion. It smacked into her like she’d leapt into an invisible wall, this complicated, layered empathy.

He did understand, at least on some level. And he would try to help, but there was nothing he could do now, she understood that as well. Oola would have to wait, but when Luke went to Jabba’s, he would do everything he could to save her. Sienn didn’t know how she knew all this, but it was undeniable. 

For a moment, she wondered if it were wishful thinking, but as her eyes met his, searched for more information, she was more certain than ever it wasn’t her imagination.

“Sihea,” she whispered. Magic. The man was magic. He’d touched her and made her feel his thoughts. It was beyond the simple feelings she sometimes got, her ‘insights’ as her mother had called them. Those were like broken comms, where she could hear just a snippet of a message, and always only in one direction. Luke had turned this into a dialogue, a complex response to her own fears. And more than that—he knew she could understand his emotional communication. No one ever expected that. Sienn was scared again, without knowing why. She _did_ trust him, but suddenly he seemed too powerful, supernatural.

“The Force, Sienn. It’s the Force.”

The suns were setting and she thought she saw a shadow from the window settle in his eyes. He said nothing else, though, and she put her other hand on top of his. Her lekku swayed, wanted to communicate further, the pain of their recent torment reminding her how Luke wouldn’t understand their complex language anyway. They could use his magic, but no Ryl.

She shivered.

The blue eyes grew darker. “How bad is it?”

Sienn responded with an uncomprehending squeeze, letting go of his fingers. His hand reached up to caress her face, and she whimpered. It had been a long time since anyone touched her like that, and his fingertips were so close to her forehead, to the nerve endings beginning there that suddenly burned worse than ever.

She grimaced involuntarily. His touch felt nice, everything else felt awful.

His eyes narrowed, and Luke shifted on the bed. 

“Turn around,” he said softly. Long fingers settled on her shoulders and gently pushed her to face the wall. Sienn’s heartbeat accelerated. She wondered if he was going to touch her lekku and what she would do if he did. Some foreigners didn’t understand their purpose or sensitivity, but—

“You’re bleeding.” The syllables were a sigh, and she shivered again. “Where’s Threepio when I need him?”

Sienn sat perfectly still, and then the mattress rose slightly as Luke stood up.

“Stay here, Sienn. I’ve got a medkit in the X-wing.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, disappeared in what felt like a heartbeat. Luke moved in shadows like a dancer of the Nightlands. He must have had training. She hoped he wouldn’t be gone long.

When the door closed this time, Sienn decided to lie down. She was tired and confused. It was possible he’d gone to get their transport, or lost track of the hour. Stretching out on her stomach, Sienn made a triangle shape with her thumbs and index fingers, and lay her forehead on top. Her lekku twitched and relaxed, and she fell asleep in minutes.

She awoke slowly, having no idea what time it was. A battered lantern spilled faint light on the uneven walls. Luke was sitting in the center of the floor; his eyes opened as she sat up and looked at him.

“Ki’uk. Hi.” He smiled. “I didn’t want to wake you.” 

The man was suddenly on his feet, so quickly that Sienn envied his ease of movement. His warrior clan clearly valued dance, or taught agility alongside more deadly arts. She made a motion to stand, but Luke held out a hand to indicate she should stay in the bed. She saw for the first time that he was holding a medkit between his fingers. There was a nervousness about him that was unsettling. It seemed incongruous with his previous assurance and calm.

“I looked…uh…while you slept.” Sienn held his eyes but could not offer any response to the strange words. “There’s some scarring already, but I think…well…maybe an infection.” 

Luke pointed, then mimicked her tchun with his left hand held like a semi-circle, drawing a line from his forehead down and to the side. She understood the reference to her anatomy, at least.

He opened the medkit, indicating the contents, another gesture towards her head. Sienn made no move forward, uncertain. Yes, her lekku hurt, particularly the left lek, the tchun, but there was nothing to be done about it—it was forever spoiled. Still, maybe there were painkillers in the medkit? She inclined her head slightly in question.

Luke held out a silver tube in her direction. “It’s bacta. For the infection. And should help the pain.”

She took it, opening the tube. The smell was clearly medicinal. Sienn indicated her lekku, trying to confirm the tube was safe for her to use. Luke nodded encouragingly. She squeezed a dab onto her fingertips and smoothed it along a small area of damaged tissue. A hiss escaped her lips at the sting of it. She shook her head in refusal, the movement itself increasing the pain.

Luke bit his lip in worry as she tried to give him back the medicine.

“You need it. I asked a tattooist…he said Twi’leks can lose half a lek from bad ink, Sienn. Put it on, please.”

Sienn didn’t understand but thrust the tube with more force in Luke’s direction. His reaction surprised her, a sound she thought was Huttese—a curse she’d heard Oola practicing. She had upset him. But it wasn’t her fault; the application of the ointment was worse than the pain.

“Luke,” she pleaded. She couldn’t find the words for how much it hurt, even in her native tongue. He cursed again. She had made him angry, Sienn thought, more frightened now, fear beginning to roll off her in waves, laced with the pain in her head. But then Luke was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, and shaking his head at her slowly.

“Don’t be scared,” he said. “I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at whoever did this to you.” He gently took the tube from her fingers, and she felt better. She trusted him. He wasn’t going to hurt her.

He kept talking, and she wasn’t sure as usual as to the exact interpretation, but she knew he was trying to convince her to put on the medicine. She shook her head repeatedly, each time the movement of her lekku made her flinch, but she couldn’t stop it. Finally Luke gripped her shoulders to stop her protests. 

Her lekku grazed his knuckles and she gasped at the contact. He seemed to respond to her sensitivity as well, and quickly released her.

“I’m sorry.”

The room was almost dark, the suns having set and only two of the moons illuminating the silent streets outside the windows. Luke’s silhouette on the bed blocked out the small lantern on the floor. He took a deep breath, and she imitated it, both of them inhaling and exhaling, face to face.

“I’ll do it,” he finally said. “If you let me.”

To demonstrate his meaning, Luke squeezed some of the ointment on his fingertips and held up his palm near the side of her head. 

Sienn felt dizzy. All lekku were sensitive, and hers even more so as a result of the tattoos. She had no idea if she could tolerate further pain. But she did believe in this man, and he was trying to help her. Maybe, like when the tattooist had drawn on her, if someone else was inflicting the hurt, she could withstand it. It was clear she couldn’t apply the medicine herself, in any case. If only Oola were here to hold her hands and wipe away her tears. The wish made her straighten, resolute. She had to stay strong and healthy to help her friend. Sienn nodded.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” Sienn said. She knew that word, too. “San’kyu.”

Luke’s expression was veiled when she turned back to face the wall. He went to get the lantern and set it on the mattress, then alit behind her without a sound. She shivered again, bracing herself for the pain. To her surprise, Luke first rested a hand over hers, waiting. She felt calmer, almost immediately. He kept it there, as his other hand moved with a whisper through the air, her lekku jerking and then relaxing. When she was breathing normally, he touched her.

Sienn was no innocent to the biological applications of her own organs, but she’d never felt quite so vulnerable and exposed as she did now. She wondered if a human male could even begin to understand the maddening sensations coursing through her body—pain, at once seductive and suffocating, rolling like a tidal wash across every nerve ending with merciless precision. When she’d been tattooed, the needle penetrating her skin, Oola had been there to center her. But now she had this stranger, this savior whose calloused hand closed over hers, whose gentle touch against her tchun made her want to moan and sob at the same time.

His fingers threaded in her right hand as his left stroked her injured tchun. Sienn sighed, her breathing coming harder, shorter, as Luke’s hand glided to the tip of the lek. She worried he would stop, but he didn’t, and she allowed her eyes to fall closed. Pain, yes, but real pleasure in his strokes too. There was something profound about it, but she couldn’t have explained why. His fingers were rough, as rough as the sand outside, as rough as the rocky terrain of her homeworld, but it was wonderful to be touched by him. 

Little pricks of sensation travelled from her head to her nipples, to the pit of her stomach and lower. Sienn suddenly recalled Mistress Cyvia’s lectures on private dances—how wealthy patrons would pay exorbitant sums for the privilege to touch these delicate parts, how one clamp of a lek could make or undo a career, and how an artist must not undervalue her charms or services. She had been taught to fake arousal, to court it, but never to surrender to it. Not like this.

The arch of her back grew more pronounced and she leaned into him—she couldn’t help it—and she gasped as his touch left her skin.

“Sienn…” He sounded uncertain. She was of no help, could barely think, everything was only instinct and sensation. 

“Narsu,” she whispered, her tchin, the right lek, waving towards him. It felt neglected, even as the left tchun was tingling with an agonizing, erotic sting. Luke had coated it with this viscous gel, and she wanted more. 

She wanted him, too.

“Narsu,” she repeated, “narsu, narsu, narsu.” She couldn’t turn to look at him, afraid of rejection, pity, or something worse. She was excited and unstable, and utterly unable to moderate her own reactions. He must have realized it—for a moment Sienn had forgotten he was a wizard as well as a man. He had magic.

His fingers were still over hers, and he let her squeeze them, but made no move to start on the other lek. She lifted his hand, turning it over in hers, examining the lines. There was something unusual about his fingers, but she couldn’t decide what it was. Impulsively, she kissed his palm.

That was a mistake. Luke pulled away quickly, making her gasp as her tchin rubbed against him and fell to her back. He must not want her, Sienn grieved, but he seemed to regret the sudden movement, returning to his original position behind her. She felt foolish, but didn’t regret it and would not apologize.

Most species familiar with Twi’leks knew lekku were a powerful erogenous zone, but no one had ever made her so desirous so quickly in her life. She was desperate for him, and didn’t care if he knew it. She had been trained, after all. She could pleasure him, adore him, make him feel worshipped. Didn’t all beings want that? Maybe the warrior was shy. Or maybe of a sect that was chaste by vow. She had heard of such things, although she didn’t understand the appeal or rationale. 

Luke’s weight settled deeper on the mattress, as if he had resolved not to flee. Sienn wished she could take his hand again and send him her wants the way he’d sent her his thoughts earlier. Instinctively, she closed her eyes, searching for something—his feelings, his desires. To be so close, to touch with such intimacy…he must want her too.

There was a flash, a bright spark in her mind, and then it disappeared like a flare in a vacuum. Sienn had _seen_ it, felt it clearly coming from Luke. Powerful and strong and for _her._

He was saying something, forceful and blunt language, but she didn’t understand as usual. Sienn reached for his hand again, but he hesitated, drawing back.

“Luke.” Her voice was firm, serious. She was set on him, and she believed that spark she’d sensed meant he was willing, but she still wasn’t facing him. One lek swayed as she turned, trying to catch his gaze.

“You’ve had a scare, Sienn…and this…” He glanced warily at her moving tchin. “This is necessary. For your _health.”_

She didn’t move, hoping he would see whatever protests he was making were unnecessary. She sensed Luke’s reluctance, although it was not exactly rejection.

Mistress Cyvia’s words came back to her. Sienn would not push. She would earn his favor.

Her eyes went to the tube, lying on the mattress, then slid back up to meet Luke’s. He held her stare, confident once more, the hesitation gone, but there was something else about him, something cautious.

It felt important to not back down. Sienn searched Luke’s face, waiting. He gave in, picking up the tube slowly, deliberately. He squeezed a globule of the translucent ointment on the tips of his index and middle finger, then rubbed it, spreading it on his own hand with his thumb. He looked at her again, as if checking her willingness, and then directed his attention to her tchin.

This lek didn’t hurt as much as the other, although it was still hypersensitive from the clumsy needlework. Sienn inclined her head slightly, staring at the wall above the bed as Luke glided his fingers from the base to the tip, ever gentle and inexorable. 

She’d never known anything could hurt so wonderfully, and yet Sienn believed she could suffer the joy of this pain forever. What sort of sorcery did he possess, to incite this in her nerves? It was more than a simple touch, a soft stroke. It was as if she felt each cell sigh and scream beneath his fingers, each line of the tattoo carved into her bones. 

When his hand cupped the prehensile tip, she cried out, unable to stifle it. It had been a sound of anguish, not pleasure, and Luke seemed to know that, once more offering a hand to her. She took it, weaving their fingers together and pressing his knuckles to her stomach as he continued covering the lekku with more medicine.

Luke was definitely going faster this time, to finish quickly, no doubt. Sienn understood he was trying to prevent the same reaction as before, but while his touch was less sensuous, the effect was no less stimulating. Her tchin flexed and oscillated, her tchun mirrored its motions. Luke gripped the middle a bit harder than he had previously, perhaps to keep it still. 

That was another mistake. 

Sienn collapsed with a groan against his chest. Her hand no longer had strength to hold his, and both her arms dropped heavily to her sides. It was a reflex, nothing she could do to resist the total weakness that resulted from his strength, the clamp on her lek.

“Oh no. Ohnononono.”

Sienn heard his distress, but hadn’t recovered enough to respond. She tried to move, but decided instead to rest against the strong chest behind her. Her lekku agreed, twining over Luke’s shoulders.

She could feel his heart beating at her shoulder blades, her eyes closed in blissful fatigue. Her lekku didn’t hurt now, nothing hurt. Everything felt untethered and lovely. It would have been nice to speak, to tell him she was fine and he shouldn’t worry, but Sienn just sighed contentedly and lay against Luke. Maybe it was better that they communicated with emotions and feelings—he wouldn’t misunderstand.

It was too soon when he drew away. Her lekku protested, waving behind her as Luke gently lowered her to the mattress and stood up. Sienn opened heavy eyes and watched him move the lantern back to the floor.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, voice even once more.

Sienn sensed the apology and wanted to wave it away. She lifted a lethargic hand to do just that, flopping it to the air before her face.

“San’kyu, Luke.” She pointed to her lekku, curling a strange pattern on the bed. They were starting to hurt again, a bizarre numbness overtaking the burn from earlier. 

“You’re welcome,” he sighed, wincing slightly, and disappeared into the refresher.

A few minutes later he returned, but Sienn hadn’t moved. It felt too good to lie there, even facing the wrong way. She was thinking, and Luke remained silent, somewhere out of sight. 

Sienn wanted him to understand she was willing…It wasn’t really obligation, although it was true she had little to offer him for saving her. She wanted to know him, for her own selfish reasons. To feel his hands on her again, to taste his desire like he must have tasted hers…The memory made her shift on the mattress, every part of her tight and wanting. 

“Luke,” she called softly. For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer, but then…

“Yes, Sienn.” He sounded far away. As difficult as it was, Sienn propped herself up on her elbows, rolled groggily to her side. 

Luke was sitting cross-legged again, this time against the door, not in the center of the floor.

She patted the bed. Inviting him.

A small smile, a slight shake of his head.

“Luke.” She sat up straighter, trying to make him see she was serious. Was he not going to sleep at all? To sit and guard the door all night? Surely he needed to rest, like all beings. Maybe he doubted her sincerity. Maybe he thought she was angry at him, for squeezing her lek hard enough to turn her spine to water. She was not; it was clear it had been an accident—an accident suffered while he was doing what she herself hadn’t been strong enough to do. Was this distance a punishment for himself, then? Or for her? She had to try to help him, as he had helped her.

Gingerly, Sienn stood. It was harder than she expected, and she saw Luke’s eyes widen as she found her feet. She suspected he would catch her if she fell, seeing a tautness in his posture, a coiled power barely dormant in his muscles. She took a deep breath, remembering what her trainers had always taught her about balance: after spinning, during spinning, before spinning—always focus on one spot.

Hazel eyes fixed on Luke’s folded hands, Sienn glided across the floor and knelt before him.

He said nothing, and finally she sighed in frustration, lifting her head to search his troubled face. What she wouldn’t give for a protocol droid or transcomp. Sienn reached out her hands and took his firmly. She wouldn’t let him misread her certainty.

“Luke. Dao ar jek. Narsu.” She knew he wouldn’t understand, so she pointed at the bed with one finger. “Do ohk go vo’ae. Do ohk rackus ar ohk bo dan.”

“Rackus?” he asked, the question surprising her. 

“Yes,” she nodded vigorously, ignoring the pain at her temples that resulted. “Rackus.” 

Did he know the word for happy? To illustrate, she smiled broadly at him—as if they were conversing at a party rather than on a dirty floor—then stood, tugging his hands. His arms lengthened, straightened in their black sleeves, but he didn’t move from the spot.

“Rackus…” He looked thoughtful, and Sienn wondered if he understood. She tried to communicate the sense of it, return some of the magic he’d sent into her brain with images and thoughts of joy and contentment, feeling safe and at ease.

Luke smiled then, a slow upturn of his mouth as if waking from a good dream. “You’re strong, Sienn. Strong in the Force.”

She felt like it was a breakthrough, since he smiled, and sank to her knees once more. “Rackus.” He nodded, but made no sign that he would budge.

“Dao ar jek,” she insisted, tugging again.

“No, Sienn.” The words sounded final, indisputable. Luke pulled his hands away, gently, but clearly refusing her offer. 

Sienn blinked twice, confused. She knew she was beautiful—even Oola had been jealous of her more petite frame, her delicate limbs that obeyed the whims of music effortlessly. Luke had liked her dance, even though he’d tried to hide it. She had never presented herself to a man and been rejected. It took a moment for the feeling to settle in her chest, hard and solid.

Maybe he still didn’t understand, Sienn decided. She lay a flat palm against his black tunic.

“Luke.” He watched her, saying nothing, his smile gone. “Sienn,” she put the same palm against her own chest, then pointed at the bed. His gaze drifted over her face, and she felt his doubt and hesitation.

Sienn looked carefully at him, seeing his eyes lower for just an instant, to where her fingers rested against her breast. It was enough of a signal for her, whatever he had been thinking. Luke _had_ been the source of that bright spark earlier, she was certain. Sienn leaned in, so close she could see a dusting of sand trapped in the seam of his black tunic. Luke closed his eyes, which may have been an attempt to deny her, but she read it as assent, and pressed her lips to his.

Luke’s eyes flew open and hands drew up, but he seemed to remember her injuries, and did not touch her. Sienn closed her eyes in response, applying more pressure, feeling the sweet softness of him starting to yield, the cracks in his dry lips from the desert winds against her mouth. She opened to him, to his acceptance and technique; his tongue felt as confident as if he were wielding his light sword, dancing around blaster bolts. Sienn moved her hands to his shoulders.

As if her touch tested his austerity more than her kiss, Luke took her hands and broke away.

“Sienn,” he said firmly, as if he’d come to a decision. She tried to listen through the haze of pleasure his lips had delivered, the memories of those strong fingers closing on her lek. Even though she was certain she wouldn’t know the language he spoke, he was good at making her understand. And now they both knew that it was all right to kiss, to move to other things.

“You need to rest.”

He was right, she _did_ need to rest. She understood the Basic phrase without knowing how, and suddenly she felt even more tired.

“Do laboo ar akohan,” she agreed solemnly. For some reason, her automatic concession seemed to disturb him even more.

“No, no, Sienn, sorry, no.” Luke abruptly seemed about ten years younger, and she smiled lazily at his chagrin. Why was he upset? It was time to rest, obviously. She needed to.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” he said, voice strained and forehead wrinkling. “Look…” 

He stood up, still holding her hands, and led her to the bed. 

Sienn lay down obediently, but resisted him leaving her. Hadn’t she been wanting him to come to bed? It felt distant, less important than sleep, but she was certain…

“I didn’t mean to do a lot of things today, but that doesn’t matter now. Just try to sleep. Hopefully the Alliance can get you away from this dustball soon. You need a medcenter, and people who speak your language.” He pressed her hands lightly and set them at her sides.

Sienn struggled to think about what she had been trying to say. What the kiss had been about. “Luke…”

He paused above her, and another word in Basic appeared in her mind—a memory, probably, but maybe something else.

“Kiss.”

She wasn’t sure she had said it correctly, or how she knew it, but he laughed, the sound still wonderful as it had been earlier. It made her smile, despite being exhausted. She wanted to hear Luke laugh more, so she repeated it.

“Kiss.”

He bent over and placed a kiss on her forehead as if on command.

Somewhere in her mind, Sienn knew it was meant to be chaste, but her forehead was bundled with nerves, and she moaned softly at the brush of his lips, stoking her into flames again. She reached for him, but he was too quick, stepping lightly away.

“Tomorrow,” he said then.

“Tomorrow?” she echoed, the word full of longing. Another word that she thought she remembered. Today. Tomorrow. And there was another word for ‘feali,’ but she couldn’t think of it at the moment, everything tense and warm inside.

“Tomorrow,” he affirmed. “I’ll figure out how to talk to you.”

“Tomorrow,” she said, “kiss.”

Her eyes closed as he laughed again, a lullaby of amusement. Sienn was asleep in seconds, but whether from natural exhaustion or the power behind the Jedi’s suggestion scarcely mattered.


	2. Dancer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to fic whining buds for the encouragement. Props to [JessKo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessKo/pseuds/JessKo) for the spectacular advice and a shout out to [JediMordsith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediMordsith/pseuds/JediMordsith) for the random fixes.

The heat woke her. Sienn vaguely remembered shivering during the night, but rest had been too necessary to do anything about it. It was odd—she normally was a light sleeper, but couldn’t remember getting under the sheet or the blanket. Now, stretching her legs and propping herself up, everything came back in a rush. Luke’s cloak had been added to the bedclothes, draped over her at some point. She looked automatically to the door, but he was gone. 

Sienn blinked away the vestiges of sleep from her eyes and wondered where he went, and why he left her behind. Luke would not abandon her—she was certain. Pushing to sit fully upright, she turned down the covers and pulled the dark cloak to her nose. It bore no scent that she could discern, but it was _his,_ and she enjoyed the feel of the coarse material and the evidence of his attention at its placement atop her.

She swung her legs over the side of the mattress, seeing a small white bag on the shelf. She opened it to the welcome odor of a caf, with a nondescript ration bar alongside. Smiling, Sienn stepped into the refresher, the stench in there as strong as ever, a rapid mood dampener. A quick check told her that her lekku were improving—the splits in the skin seemed to have scabbed in the night, and the redness had faded almost completely, although the tip of her tchun looked an unhealthy shade of pink.

She hurried her way through the sonic shower, slipping once more into her yellow jumpsuit and fleeing to the main chamber. She hung up Luke’s cloak on the tiny hook, made the bed, and sat back down with the breakfast he’d left her. The caf was weak but still good, and she’d eaten enough expired rations in her early years to almost enjoy the rubbery enriched texture of this one.

It was easy to lose track of the hours without a chrono, but she tried to make time pass with her art. She practiced the athletic leaps of the Kala’uun Welcoming Dance, the winding twists of the Stormrider’s Descent, and, careful to avoid the whiplike motions that were usually required, the seductive subtlety of the Rutian’s Exile. Panting from the exertion, Sienn went to rest on the bed, just as there was a noise at the door. 

She stood, somehow knowing it was Luke. He smiled as he entered, but his face quickly fell as he took in her labored breathing and flushed appearance. 

“Are you sick? Fever?”

Sienn heard the concern as Luke placed his palm on her damp forehead. His skin felt rough and cool, and she wondered how he didn’t overheat himself, in the desert outside. 

“Birtan,” she explained, stepping back and doing a little jeté, arms bent to the ceiling and feet snapping towards the crown of her head, to demonstrate what had been occupying her time.

His smile returned, so she perched on the edge of the bed, happy at his comprehension. He _was_ very handsome, for a human. She liked the golden glow of his skin, the way the edges of his mouth drew deep as he spoke, the minor asymmetry to his features that was at once appealing and intimidating. 

“Right. Birtan.” Luke pulled out his flask and offered it to her. “Dancing. I guess you were bored.” He looked around the small room. “I don’t blame you. Not much to do around here, even if you’re not stuck indoors.”

She drank deeply, remembering not to take too much this time, and handed back the flask.

“Tomorrow,” Sienn tried, looking to see if he remembered. 

He did, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks. Pleased, Sienn reached for him, but Luke stepped away from the bedside.

“Yes, it’s tomorrow. But look—” He reached into a pocket, pulling out a small comm. “I couldn’t find a transcomp, but this should help…”

He pushed the playback button and a small image shimmered above the comm. It was a Twi’lek, and she was beautiful—even in the holo her orange skin shone. It was a rare shade, and Sienn startled to see one so similar to her own. The woman’s eyes gleamed. It was hard to tell the color through the static of the recording, but they seemed wise, and glittered like a fire about to lance flames beyond its hearth. She was not lean like a dancer, but muscled and hard-looking—built like a slave, for manual labor. Sienn stared as the woman began to speak in Ryl.

“Greetings Sienn, my name is Saren. I am with the Rebel Alliance, as is the man who found you, a Jedi Knight named Luke Skywalker. He has arranged for your safe passage off-planet. Due to Commander Skywalker’s mission obligations, he will not accompany you. He asked me to convey his regret and to insist upon your compliance. He has also willingly accepted your request, to liberate your companion from her enslaver. If _possible._ ” The woman’s eyes narrowed, as if she was about to scold Sienn, but she took a quick breath and continued speaking, faster, as if time were running out. 

“You will depart tomorrow afternoon at 1448. Skywalker will show you the rendezvous point. Do not be late, do not speak to anyone or let yourself be followed. The pilot meeting you will be a human male and will ask you in Basic this question: “You seen any womp rats?” The meaning does not matter; remember these words. You will respond in Basic: “They come in threes.” Remember these words. Then follow to his ship. There will be a protocol unit to help you communicate and an emdee droid to tend to your injuries.”

Sienn glanced quickly at Luke, but he was watching the holocomm, which still spoke, the Ryl voice gaining a harder edge.

“You are lucky, Sienn, and the Force is with you. Do not squander this good fortune or dishonor yourself with failure. Commander Skywalker thinks you are special. Do not disappoint us. This message will be played for you three times and then erased.”

Saren signed off with an ancient and formal farewell, inclining her head. Sienn gasped as she noted one of the woman’s lekku was a prosthetic. What sort of suffering had Saren known, to be so scarred? Who could do such a thing to another? Had Luke helped this Twi’lek too? Sienn’s lekku twitched in sympathy as the display winked off.

She sat dumbly, trying to process these words that seemed to prescribe her future. Luke said nothing, and let the recording repeat without prompting. Sienn watched a second time, her shock dulled and thoughts muddled. She was leaving, and Luke— Commander Skywalker, a Jedi Knight, a Rebel—was staying. She was grateful for his care, for the safety he offered, the trouble he had gone to, but—

When the recording finished again, Luke paused it, holding up three fingers.

“She told me to play it three times for you. Ready?” 

Sienn _did_ understand, but shook her head. She wanted to wait, to save the final time.

“Tomorrow,” she said sadly, the word no longer a promise. Luke nodded.

“Right. Before I leave tomorrow.” He held out a hand. “I have to show you the rendezvous point. C’mon.”

Sienn took Luke’s hand and let him pull her to her feet. They must be going to the meeting place. He pulled his cloak over her shoulders and raised the hood delicately over her head. She didn’t react, feeling numb as they left the small room and out into the baking sunshine. 

She slipped her hand back into his as they walked, and felt a little stronger when he squeezed lightly. Sienn kept step as Luke led her through alleys and a chaotic market square, winding up in a vacant hangar on the far end of the spaceport.

He turned to her after checking they were alone and said quietly “You seen any womp rats?”

She recognized the phrase and nodded, trying to focus on the seriousness in his glinting eyes.

“Theh come een threes.”

“Good,” he said, and then set off again, guiding her through labyrinthine paths to get back to the dingy apartment’s doorway, and then making her find the route to the hangar by herself. It took a few tries, but less than an hour later, she did it perfectly and quickly without any assistance. Sienn almost wished it had taken longer. She liked the comfortable pressure of his fingers in hers, sensing his confidence, watching his careful movements, knowing he would keep her safe.

When Luke beamed at her success, Sienn stood on her tiptoes and leaned towards him. He watched, smile disappearing, but didn’t move away. Slowly, ever closer, until the hood almost touched his hair, and then she brushed her lips softly against his. That brief spark from the night before flared between them, once more stifled before it could ignite.

Sienn lowered back onto her heels, deciding not to push. He was leaving her, and that could be one reason for his hesitation. 

“San’kyu,” she smiled at him.

“Thank you,” he answered, and she registered the different pronunciation, working her lips around it to imitate his version of the phrase.

“Thank you,” she repeated carefully. Luke smiled tightly, a pink shade climbing up his collar. Was he embarrassed? She hadn’t felt he was deliberately correcting her, but had already decided to improve her Basic.

“Let’s get some lunch.” Luke tugged her hand and they set off back towards the market. 

Sienn wouldn’t have minded eating in a cantina or diner, but Luke pointed to the street kiosks, so she deferred to his selection. She was happy to see that the cart where he stopped had a wide variety of familiar-looking food. She opened her mouth to order in Ryl from the Twi’lek vendor, but Luke yanked her back and did it in Basic. Upset at her lapse, Sienn tried to send him an empathic apology as he collected their food. She thought he received it, as Luke offered her a little smile and rubbed his thumb against her palm as they set off again.

Soon after, they stopped at a junk stall and Luke bargained for a wrist chrono. He tried to have her pick, but she waved away the choices. All were equally ugly, and upsetting reminders of pending separation. Finally Luke chose one he’d judged accurate, something bland and utilitarian. She watched with lowered lids as he strapped it onto her arm, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Sienn had assumed they were returning to the room to eat, but Luke led her up a sloping dune to the west of the dusty market. She winced as some grains blew into her eyes, but easily kept pace with him, light on her feet. She noticed Luke’s heels didn’t sink into the sand as so many beings seemed to—he had experience with this terrain.

At the top, he sat facing the vast nothing of desert behind the town. Sienn folded her legs and followed his gaze, wondering what he was looking at in the distance. She saw a wasteland, a scorched and battered planet that was inexorably burning to death. It bled tragedy, like a Lethan burial ground. Sienn shivered, wondering how Oola was faring at the court of Jabba the Hutt in this inhospitable place.

“It’s not cold,” Luke said, looking at her profile with examining eyes. “Are you all right?” He pointed with his chin towards the bustling alleys in the distance. “We can go back…”

She shook her head, guessing at his question, and reached for her box of munch-fungus stir fry. Sienn was almost disappointed at the fork that came with her meal, after her determination to master eating sticks. They each had their own meal this time—no sharing. Still, it was comfortable, and quiet. And smelled much better than their room. 

As she finished and closed up the empty box, she leaned against Luke’s side, wondering what mission he was committed to, what was so important that Oola’s rescue was secondary. He was a Jedi Knight, a title which seemed noble enough to suit him, whatever it meant. And he thought she was special, the Rebel Twi’lek had said. Sienn always had a healthy regard for her own talents and charms, but that information from Saren made her warm and thrill inside. Luke _would_ save Oola. She felt sure of it.

She didn’t know how long they sat there, but she liked the solid weight of him, the support of his torso and shoulder and the lines of his body. Sienn thought they could stay until morning and she would be quite satisfied. Maybe Luke sensed her contentment, or simply felt the same, as he made no move to leave.

“If I thought you could shoot, I would give you a blaster,” he finally said. There was a shift in his mood that she felt as clearly as the suns’ rays against her cheeks. Sienn turned to look at him. The wind picked up, blowing hair into his eyes, but Luke didn’t seem to notice. 

“I shouldn’t have left her...” He seemed lost, his bright blue gaze searching her face, as if mere vision could impart meaning.

“It’s going to be fine.” There was something about his tone; Sienn worried at it. “Everything will be fine.” The foreign syllables rang hollow, unconvincing and full of regret.

Frustration, cruel and corrosive, flooded her veins. Luke was hurting for some reason, and she was unable to communicate, couldn’t comfort him. Sienn resolved then and there that whatever happened, she would insist that this Saren woman or someone, anyone, teach her Basic as soon as she got to the Rebels. She would not be crippled by language, restricted to simple feelings when complicated words were required. This warrior needed more than a dancer. Sienn doubted herself, hated her own ignorance. She had never felt so inadequate, absolutely useless in every way.

“Hey,” Luke said softly, and she blinked, realizing he was looking even more intently at her. “We’re doing all right, aren’t we?” 

She nodded, not knowing what she was being asked, but he smiled and moved closer. This time he took the initiative—a fleeting pressure of lips on lips, like she’d offered earlier. It made everything better, her insecurities dissolving.

“Kiss,” Luke winked at her as he said it, then stood up and uselessly brushed the sand from his pants. Sienn sprang nimbly to her feet and straightened the hood and cloak on her shoulders, waiting for his cue to depart.

He offered his hand and she seized it. They half-walked, half-slid down the dune back to the apartment.

~~

After escorting her into the room, Luke took back his cloak and vanished once more into the afternoon heat. Sienn busied herself in the sonic, wishing she had thought to ask for perfume, or a change of clothes, and then feeling childish at the thought. He had done so much for her, and owed her nothing. Spending his credits was ungrateful and unnecessary. 

Deciding to wash her clothes rather than wear them another day as they were, Sienn stripped, then used the wash on her jumpsuit and underthings. Her lekku stung as she accidentally scraped them against the doorframe in the tiny space, and she hissed in pain as she cleaned the grit and grime from her flesh.

She eyed the silver tube of ointment warily. She should reapply it, but would prefer Luke repeat last night’s ministrations. Since it would assuredly hurt, she’d rather have the pleasure of his touch color her agony.

Sienn looked more closely at the chrono he’d given her then, a stab of guilt at her earlier reaction to the purchase. It was unfair to expect him to take her with him, or abandon his original mission. Who knew, perhaps she’d already delayed him, jeopardized his success? It was a disturbing thought, and she buried it quickly.

The chrono consisted of a light grey case, with a black worn leather band. Its display glimmered dim but steady, a pale green that reminded her of Luke’s weapon. She wondered why she had thought it was ugly before. It wasn’t—it was large for her, yes, but now it made her think of him, and she strapped it on. The numbers changed slowly as time passed, and she tried to focus on her rescuer, imagine what he was doing, where he was...

 _Luke…_ She thought his name like a talisman, then remembered his clan name from Saren’s message. _Luke Skywalker. Jedi Knight._

_Sienn!_

Her name, his voice, resounding in her mind. Sienn’s head snapped up, pain in her skull at the sudden movement. She was certain that he’d come back—she heard him so clearly—but she was still alone in the deepening twilight.

She couldn’t hear him anymore, but she could _feel_ him. She’d worried him, calling him like that. But she hadn’t known she could do it. Angry at her lack of control, of not knowing how to repeat the contact, Sienn pinched the bridge of her nose, struggling for composure. She closed her eyes and tried to send Luke thoughts of calm—she was safe, she was only thinking about him. There was no danger.

There was no response.

Eight standard minutes later, according to her chrono, Luke rushed in, eyes wide, sweat beading on his skin. He was at her side before she could stand.

“You’re all right.” He pulled her up into an embrace, and Sienn flinched as her lekku lifted away from her shoulders. She tried to communicate a nonverbal apology as he pulled back, looking her over to make sure everything was in order, evaluating eyes drifting to her damaged appendages.

Sienn let loose a string of Ryl, explaining how she hadn’t meant to call him, hadn’t even known it was _possible_ —she didn’t know how his magic worked—and she was sorry to be so much trouble. 

Luke shook his head, likely not understanding, maybe rejecting her excuses. 

He shrugged off his cloak. “It’s not your fault,” he told her. “You’re too hard on yourself, Sienn. No one ever taught you. You’re a natural, that’s all.” He hung it up and started for the refresher. “Let me get cleaned up,” he pointed at his destination as if it weren’t already obvious. “And then I’ll take care of your…” He glided his hand in the same gesture as the night before, to indicate her lekku. 

Sienn nodded, relieved at his calm. She pointed to the ointment tube.

“Yeah, that,” Luke gave her a little smile. She took off the chrono and set it on the shelf, listening to the racket of the sonic as she waited.

The noise died with a rattle and clunk, and Luke returned shortly after. He was in a white undershirt, hair mussed and face clean-shaven. Sienn took a deep breath at the sight of him—muscles only hinted at by his fighting ability were on full display thanks to the clinging material.

“It smells like a wet Tauntaun in there,” Luke grinned, either not noticing her reaction to his appearance or ignoring her rounded eyes. “If you don’t know what I’m talking about, consider yourself lucky.” He laughed, more handsome than ever, and she laughed too, happy for his mood no matter what he was saying.

“Let’s do this,” he said then, picking up the medicine and making a circle with his finger. Sienn turned around obediently. She was distracted by Luke’s ease, and even less prepared for the pain this time, crying out as the gooey gel was smoothed along her tchun.

Luke sucked in a breath and waited. She knew he was trying to be gentle, and it _was_ better than yesterday, but it still hurt.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Yes,” Sienn said, not knowing how to make him continue. She had almost looked forward to this, remembering only the eroticism of her reaction last night, but she already felt miserable and weak. Luke’s right hand appeared at her side, palm up. She took it gratefully, bracing herself.

He continued then, fingers barely grazing her skin as he coated her lekku, first the tchun, then the tchin. Sienn sat rigid, wanting to cry but forcing herself to be strong. It wasn’t right, to give in to the pain when all Luke was doing was helping.

“Done,” came the whisper, after what felt like hours.

Sienn waited, still holding his hand. He didn’t pull away, didn’t move. She could hear him breathing, tense at her back. Tentatively, she squeezed his hand. His tightened in response. Her lekku swished once, numbed by the ointment as it was absorbed.

“Tomorrow…” she said, looking at his hand in hers, bending down each of his fingers in turn. Her limited Basic couldn’t convey everything she hoped, yet she trusted him to understand. Luke said nothing, but she felt a rush of apprehension at the word, quickly suppressed. It took her breath away, this connection to his feelings. Sienn shifted on the bed, wanting him more than ever, but sensing resistance. 

He was in danger. The thought arrived like a revelation. As long as he was alive, perhaps, this warrior would be threatened by those who feared him—his power, his magic. Maybe the people he cared about were in danger too. She did turn to him then. She would try to explain—

“Luke…”

He slid backwards, disengaging his fingers from hers and shook his head slowly, jaw set, retreating to the refresher. 

Sienn was confused, replaying the moment in her memory. Why wouldn’t he want her? Was he afraid of the connection they shared? Afraid he would die tomorrow? Quickly, she discounted these thoughts. This man was not afraid. Something else, yes, but she couldn’t name it fear.

Standing, resolute, Sienn strode into the refresher. Luke was cleaning the medicine’s residue from his skin, not looking up at her entrance. She held out a hand.

“Birtan,” she said firmly.

His troubled eyes met hers, expression guarded. She knew he remembered the word. Her outstretched fingers curled one by one into her palm in the traditional Twi’lek manner, then extended consecutively, an invitation.

“I don’t know how to dance, Sienn,” Luke answered, tossing aside a threadbare towel and accepting her hand despite his refusal. “You’re the birtan.” His mouth quirked at the edges. “I’m the chee, right?”

Pleased at the words she recognized, Sienn pulled him into the bedroom.

“Luke ohk a birtan,” she proclaimed, lifting his left hand in her right. He looked at the clasp and said nothing, allowing her to next tug his right hand and place it around her waist. “Kravadango.”

He rolled his eyes but grinned, and she took the expression as surrender, resting her left hand in a stiff brace against his bicep. Humming, she started the simplest tune she remembered for the dance, rolling her hips, playfully swatting his left side to indicate he should do the same. 

Perhaps sensing she wouldn’t give up, Luke complied, shifting his weight to imitate her movements. Once she was certain he had it, Sienn moved a few steps backwards. He mirrored her, the space between them widening. 

Pleased at how good his instincts were, Sienn nodded with approval. They closed the distance and separated a few times before she started the first turn. Luke fought it for a moment, not used to the mixture of moves. She supposed it _was_ complicated for a beginner—swaying hips, feet stepping backwards and forwards, all while spinning in a circle—but he picked it up. Sienn continued humming, her speed increasing, watching Luke stare at their feet, concentrated on the dance steps. She halted then, and he looked at her in confusion. 

“Sienn,” she commanded, pointing two long-nailed fingers at his face and then turning them back towards herself. “Go teaka.” She shook her head and looked meaningfully at his feet.

“I’ll try,” he said, and then laughed. “I mean, yes ma’am.” His smile changed everything about him—the light in his eyes, the shape of his cheeks, the lines framing his lips, his entire aura. He went from sober warrior to charming youth in a heartbeat. “Yes,” he repeated, and stepped back into position, retaking the clasp at the proper height without her help.

Glaring as sternly as Mistress Cyvia on a bad day, Sienn took up the tune anew, and this time Luke held her eyes as they began again. She turned the hum into a song, voice climbing up and down the 13-note scale as they danced around the small space. She sang real lyrics and made up ones, words of hope and innocence, an ode to times forgotten, of brave warriors who fought for justice, when light battled dark and the world was renewed through violence and love. 

She had been right—Luke was an excellent dancer. He followed her lead flawlessly after learning the basic steps, his body responding to her melody like he was an instrument in the same orchestra. And when she switched to free verse, cautionary lyrics about valuing one’s life at the expense of honor—one of Oola’s favorites—Luke took the lead as if he’d known the dance for years instead of minutes. Sienn floated along, adjusting her steps to match his, and sang about the Kravadango, its origins, its flirtatious purpose, its consummation. Her song slowed with their movements, and ended as their bodies came together again, the distance between hips and toes closing.

Luke’s eyes shone in the darkness, but already the happiness seemed to be fading from them. Before he could step away, Sienn slid her forearms up his chest, over the thin cloth that was already damp from the heat of the room. The thrumming rhythm of his pulse harmonized with her own. Her warrior wanted this, no longer in need of persuasion.

He took a deep breath, muscles rising and falling under her touch. 

“Are you sure, Sienn?”

She glided closer, her hands moving higher to feel the rise of his collarbones. 

“Yes.” 

Whatever his question, it was the only answer she would give him.

This time when Luke kissed her, it was without the hesitation of earlier, without caution or restraint. His lips were knowing and raw, a power and need behind it that overwhelmed her senses. Sienn arched into the lines of his body, pulling him down to bow over her. Her heart clenched in satisfaction at his unequivocal wish for her favors. There was no more reluctance.

She ran her nails along his scalp, feeling him tense and eager as his hands opened her jumpsuit. Tracing lines down the planes of his back, she yanked his shirt up. Luke tossed it off without pause. His mouth left hers for only an instant, but it felt too long, her arms locking tighter around his neck while his stayed hard against her ribs. Their legs bumped into the mattress, bodies still pressed together, mouths colliding in another, more intimate dance of breath and tongue.

Sienn had to slow their progress. She was a pleasure giver, trained by the best, and would outdo herself tonight. Never had she so wanted to perform perfectly. Generosity was the secret to erotic gratification, but this was a new dimension—this desire for someone who asked for nothing, who had already given her so much.

She pushed Luke onto the bed, placing a promising kiss on his mouth before standing and folding the pillow in half before sliding it under his head. He watched her openly in the moonslight—admiring, expectant. 

Turning away, Sienn lit the small lantern on the floor, then stripped off her jumpsuit, slowly, exposing one shoulder, then the other. It slid to her hips and caught there as she spun in lazy circles, unwinding her chest wrap, shimmying lightly to make the yellow material fall in a heap at her toes. She glanced behind, seeing she had Luke’s complete attention, and delicately stepped free of the pool of clothing at her feet. One small foot, the second, a quick pirouette and then she leapt onto the bed.

Her knees landed softly on either side of his hips, and she leaned down to kiss him. Like many young men, she thought with amusement, Luke was impatient. His fingers dragged from her lower back up her spine, bringing her closer. She wiggled her shoulders, twisted her lips, gently removed his hands. She lifted them over his head, pressing hard once as a signal to stay there. Next she trailed a path of kisses from his eyelids to his lips, lapping at the dip between nose and mouth, down to the dimple in his chin. She followed the pounding artery in his neck to the hollow of his throat, her fingernails travelling lightly in her kisses’ wake.

She could feel him against her belly, stiff and more than ready. Sitting up, Sienn traced the raised outline in his pants with the pads of her fingers, lightly pressing, checking his expression. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly parted, tension at the corners of his lips. His raised hands curled into fists as she stroked, but he made no move to lower them.

Luke’s chest moved erratically, but as she watched it was clear he was winning a struggle for control. His respiration evened out as she slipped her fingers behind the fastenings of his pants. He opened his eyes and she shook her head, a teasing warning. She felt him force relaxation, muscles slack once more as she pulled the black material down slowly, over the enticing lines made by his hipbones, releasing his cock to the arid night air. 

When his legs were free, she took her time to appreciate his physique. Every part of him was lean and defined, the cut of his abdomen and the contours of his thighs. She wanted to use all her skill and talent for his benefit, wanted him to moan her name, melt into an unbounded lake of delicious sensation until she made him climax at the time and in the manner of her choosing. 

His naked body was painted the same shade as hers in the deep shadows cast by the weak lantern light. Sienn slid up him languidly, the feel of his unyielding muscles, calloused skin, and rigid cock delicious against her natural softness. Placing a kiss on his lips, deepening it, her tongue tasting his, Sienn skimmed her hands up his arms. She threaded their fingers briefly before pulling back.

“Luke,” she whispered, and then glided with the same fluidity back down, settling between his legs. His knees fell open, and she kissed the sensitive insides of each. He let out a cracked breath, and she smiled against his skin. Some techniques were simple yet effective. This was one she would enjoy. 

One hand settled atop each foot at her side, pushing. She easily bent Luke wide, unsurprised at his flexibility. Supported by her elbows, Sienn licked a path along the inside of his thighs, taking care to avoid his cock, meandering and exploring everywhere but where he wanted it most. It was a honeyed torture, making her eventual indulgence that much more welcome. She could feel his amazement as she stretched him, nosing deeper. He arched, shifting, seeking contact, and she provided it, but not as he was perhaps expecting.

She cupped and lifted his balls in one hand, rolling her tongue beneath, probing, finding the most sensitive and neglected spots and giving them her total focus. He moaned then, the sound confirming her target. The fingers of her other hand reached low, one following the center line of him to the perineum. She pushed, teasing a slow circle down and across the tight ring of his ass, feeling him start to twist and tilt, needing more.

He gasped something unintelligible, and she liked how it sounded—desperate and hungry. Pushing a little harder, her tongue swept a greedy trail after her finger, pressing deep inside. Luke’s thighs contracted, his cock flexing above her head. His movement hurt, as her lekku were compressed, but Sienn would not let her own discomfort interfere. She better angled his hips, then thrust repeatedly with her tongue, right hand reaching for his cock and wrapping around it. He inhaled sharply, senses divided and overwhelmed. 

The pad of her thumb rubbed softly over the tip of him, his leaking fluid smooth and hot against her finger. Expertly, her tongue speared deeper in his ass as she pumped his cock. Luke jerked like she’d shot him with a stun net. Sienn drew back with a final stroke over his muscled ridges. He shouldn’t be released so rapidly. Pleasure should be drawn out, apportioned and savored. 

Licking her lips, she kissed along the lines of his joints, caressed the softness of his skin. She took her time to taste every part of him, still avoiding his rigid cock as she lowered his knees onto the bed. Her hands immobilized his hip bones, preventing any attempts at friction or depth.

“Fuck.” She heard the panted curse and recognized it, although it wasn’t a common one on Ryloth. Satisfied, Sienn sat up, hands massaging the quadriceps of his thighs gently.

“Yes?” she asked, proud of the reactions she’d already inspired.

“Yes,” Luke gasped, eyes unfocused and voice weak. 

Her full lips pursed as her hands moved higher up his legs, thumbs ever closer to his erection. She was torn, wanting to hear more of his jagged sighs and soft words, but it was her role to calm him, prolong his excitement. Sienn bent forward, running her palms up his chest, over the taut triceps locked in place by his ears, and pulled his hands down. She rested them on her breasts, leaning her chest into his fingers, squeezing her own hands over his as she slid her pelvis leisurely up and down the length of his torso. Her stomach waved in a belly dance as she encouraged his touch with her motion, letting him feel her own heat and wetness flow against his skin.

But as soon as she let go, Luke’s hands moved under her arms, jerking her down to kiss. His flavor was salt, fever, and want so sharp it could cut. It fed her own desire, and Sienn fought for control. This was for him, and she had to resist her impulses in order to draw out his pleasure.

She started to lower again, ready to take his cock between her lips, but he anticipated it and grabbed her shoulders, lekku rubbing against his fingers.

“Turn around, at least,” he murmured, and Sienn ignored him, not knowing the words or his intent. She ducked her head and his strong hands fumbled, then latched firmly on her hips, lifting her up.

Her hands served as a pivot as Luke rotated her crotch to settle over his head, giving him unrestricted access to her cunt. Surprised, Sienn wriggled appreciatively as his mouth first touched her slick sex, and then she fought to stay focused as he looped his arms around her thighs, hands pressing her down firmly onto his face. 

She swallowed him faster than intended, gagging her own cries with his cock. Her hips bucked against his tongue as it swirled inside, chin pressing insistently against her clit. It was all she could do to breathe, the air coming fast through her nose as she moved her mouth up and down his length. She twisted her tongue as she went, sucking harder to create pressure and pleasure. Her throat opened gradually until she took him completely down to the root, rewarded by his sudden stutter and pause at her clit. 

Sienn smiled around his cock, feeling his own determination to pleasure her like a solid thing, wrapping around her, imprinted on her flesh with his fingers and relished with his tongue. She would match it, she promised silently, doing her best to ignore the fire in her cunt and swollen ache between her legs. She wanted him too badly—inside, filling her completely. This desire for him was unfamiliar and overpowering. It was tempting to abandon her role as pleasure-giver and surrender to it.

Sienn moaned, the sound muffled by his cock deep in her throat, as Luke’s tongue was joined by two fingers inside her. An approaching orgasm started an exquisite, inevitable climb that was short-circuited by the laser-sharp targeting of Luke’s manipulations. His thumb traced her ass, lightly grazing, then harder. It pressed deep inside as his teeth scraped her clit, the combination unexpected and irresistible. Unable to control or slow the sensations, Sienn collapsed as a glittering climax exploded behind her eyes.

She came up gasping for air, releasing his cock and whimpering as Luke continued lapping at her without pause. This was supposed to be him, undone and boneless, not her. Sienn regained her senses, then her balance, her ass still contracting around his finger, her cunt covering his face with her juices. 

“Fuck!” she laughed out his curse, breathing hard as she squirmed, trying to escape, everything too sensitive. That was apparently the right thing to say, as Luke laughed too, and let her go, arms sliding away from their hold on her thighs.

She turned back around, and fell on him in a haze of kisses. He returned them, breathless, face glistening and tasting of her, his hands everywhere at once. Her lekku writhed and jerked, but Sienn ignored the pain. 

Luke looked so different now, like an unburdened twin of the man he’d been earlier. Sienn whispered affectionate nonsense into his kisses, welcoming the mixture of triumph and tenderness that accompanied her achievement of his transformation. 

Surely this was what she had trained for, not dancing and pleasure for perverse, unappreciative boors. Rather, rewarding heroes, putting smiles on the faces of the brave and selfless men and women fighting for something greater than themselves. It was her true calling. She wanted to thank Luke for so much already, and this epiphany was now added to the litany of reasons.

Whatever happened, Sienn vowed she would serve his Rebellion with her talents. She would bring pleasure and joy, no matter how fleeting, and do whatever Luke Skywalker asked of her. She wanted to serve such a master, to be worthy of him.

Luke’s hands stroked her breasts, his roaming mouth nipped at her neck, and Sienn came back to herself. She reached between them, guiding his cock between her legs. He sank into her with a groan, then pulled her down to his chest. Spreading her legs wider to accommodate him, Sienn pushed away with an apologetic sound. She couldn’t lie on him without her lekku winding around his limbs, something that was too painful in her current condition. Luke seemed to understand, his hands moving to her waist as her palms settled on his upper torso. Her nails lightly drifted a rhythm across his skin as she rose and fell on his cock.

He seemed to protest as she twisted and undulated faster, but Sienn knew her craft. Just when his neck muscles flexed, she would slow, pause, let him come down, and when his breathing was no longer shallow, she’d start the ascent again. The third time, he knew her game, and tried to change the tempo, but Sienn lifted completely off his cock, enjoying the look of sweet disbelief on his face as she hovered for a maddening, delectable minute before taking him inside once more.

His language was still a mystery, but Sienn imagined she could understand. She heard adoring exclamations, pleas for release, and insensible nothings in Basic. He was murmuring and moaning whatever came to mind as she brought him repeatedly to the edge and never let him tumble over it.

When her leg muscles were beginning to tire and her momentum started to falter, Sienn lifted up and spun lightly around on all fours, lowering her chest to the mattress like a supplicant and beckoning with her hips.

She hadn’t been certain if he’d comply, but Luke was already on his knees behind her, strong thighs hot against the backs of hers. His cock slammed inside her body without pause, drawing a moan of delight from her lips. Strong hands held her ass high as Luke took full advantage of the control she’d relinquished. 

Her lekku moved independently, snaking down her back and twisting around his forearms. They caressed and trapped his limbs as Luke’s cock pressed deeper and harder. Her muscles trembled, already exhausted, as he fucked her faster. The burn intensified with his thrusts as she fought for control, tried to release him and stop her lekku’s desperate clamping and erotic spasms. Sienn shuddered beneath Luke as her insides turned liquid, her entire world reduced to his cock and the pleasure-pain consuming her nerves.

When Luke came, his arms flexed, stressing her wrapped lekku, and Sienn wailed from the force of it. The bliss of his release crashed into her as if it were her own, even as searing shockwaves tore her apart from the temples down.

Luke made no attempt to pull away, waiting as her body calmed. First her tchin released him, sliding to rest on her shoulder, followed soon after by the more sensitive tchun. Sienn could sense his dismay, his belief that he’d somehow made things worse rather than better, and she again cursed her inattention during language tutorials. She too stayed immobile, not wanting to be the one to separate their bodies. Eventually Luke withdrew, resting on his heels, breaths heavy and ragged. 

Making herself smile, Sienn turned, reaching for him. His eyebrows lifted minutely, eyes widening in surprise, but his outstretched hands welcomed her closer.

“Luke,” she sighed, settling against his chest. He fell back against the pillow, adjusting his legs to lie down properly, bringing her with him.

“Sienn,” he breathed. She could hear something different, uneasy, in his voice.

Closing her eyes, she tried with all her strength to send him her happiness, her gratitude, her commitment to whatever cause he deemed worthy of their efforts. She wanted him to understand how special he was, and how special he made her feel.

She saw his smile somehow, even with her eyes closed.

“You could be a Jedi, Sienn. You could. A Jedi.”

Luke’s tone was soft, strange. Snuggling deeper into his side, letting her lekku arrange themselves behind her as they wished, Sienn kissed his ribcage, nearest her lips. She sank into the strength and closeness of him, draping a soothing arm across his midriff.

“Jedi,” she repeated.

“Yeah,” he agreed, and she thought again how different he was like this.

“Sienn ohk a birtan,” she replied, sleepily.

“Sienn could ohk a Jedi, too,” Luke answered, as she kissed him again.

“Luke could ohk a birtan, too,” she mimicked, and he laughed, hard, chest shaking in her embrace. 

When his chuckles had subsided, Luke kissed the curve of her tchun, making her tremble. 

“Good night, Sienn.”

“Tomorrow,” she said, remembering with a rush of sadness what was coming.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, and she imagined she heard the same sadness in his voice.

Sienn doubted she could sleep, but enjoyed the steadiness of his respiration, the heat of his skin, the smell of him, the soft, muffled beat of his human heart. 

The night was quiet. They hadn’t turned off the lantern, so when she thought Luke was asleep, she tilted her head up, trying to memorize his features. He had a mission. It was dangerous. If he didn’t return…

Another fear accompanied the thought. What if _his_ mission _was_ successful, but Luke died because he tried to save Oola? What if the terrible and mighty Jabba the Hutt was stronger than her brave warrior? Or what if it was already too late and Oola was lost? Sienn’s throat tightened, her eyes stinging. 

No, she wouldn’t think like that. This man was magic, she was certain. He’d shared his magic with her, made her stronger. Nothing could defeat him. She had to trust in his own power as he seemed to. She had to believe he would survive. 

~~

Hours later, the heat woke her once more, but this time a pleasant change from the previous day: Luke slept at her side. They lay as they had collapsed, close and sweaty now as the suns started their daily task of turning the planet into a slow-cooking gasser.

“Luke,” she shook him, knowing he had planned to depart before her. 

He woke with a start, but quickly calmed. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, giving her a lingering kiss before standing, stretching—a nice visual, this human form—and heading to the refresher. He was back in just minutes, already dressing.

Sienn watched, wordless and sad, forcing back the doubts and fears that had threatened her last night.

“Sorry we don’t have time to get a caf,” Luke muttered, fastening his tunic. 

Sienn slipped out of the bed and moved to put on her chrono. She wanted him to see she liked it, would keep it. 

It was still early, just after dawn. Maybe he wouldn’t be late to whatever he had scheduled. Luke pulled on his cloak, lay some credits on the shelf next to the medicine, and then produced the comm.

“Last time,” he said, holding up three fingers. Sienn nodded, making herself concentrate on Saren’s message, the words she was expected to reproduce. When it was over, he pushed a red button, and the comm whined once as the file erased. 

“You remember?” Luke pocketed the device and took her hands in his, looking earnestly into her face. “You remember where to go?”

“Yes,” she replied, her answer to anything he asked. But she did remember. 1448, the hangar, the strange code phrase. She would be there. 

Luke pointed to the tube of medicine and the credits.

“Don’t forget that either.” Luke looked around the room with a sense of finality that distressed her. He was really leaving. Sienn swallowed, vowing not to show weakness. He had to do things that she couldn’t understand, but she must support. She briefly thought about reminding him about Oola, but it wasn’t fair to ask, even if she’d been able. He’d already promised to help if he could. _”If possible,”_ Saren had warned. Her friend was not his primary mission.

“Be careful, Sienn,” Luke said, lifting her face towards his gently. 

“Yes,” she replied again, not knowing what else to say. “Thank you, Luke.”

He bent down and kissed her, first on her forehead, then on her lips. Sienn sighed, already missing his presence.

“May the Force Be With You.”

She nodded silently at his solemn look, uncomprehending as usual, her lekku speaking a farewell behind her as he went to the door. Then somehow, a phrase sounded in her mind, in the Rutian-accented voice of a man she didn’t know. Magic, Sienn thought, but repeated the Ryl without question or hesitation.

“Sil Anoyan onk bo dan.”

Luke paused at the words, his eyes blazing with a power that she could feel like a weight against her skin. 

“A Jedi _and_ a dancer, Sienn. Think about it.” Then he pulled up his hood and was gone. 

~~

Eight standard hours later, Sienn was aboard a HWK-290 on her way to _Home One_ for evaluation and assignment in service of her rescuer’s Rebel Alliance.

Twelve standard hours later, Oola danced her last, greatest dance.

Twenty standard hours later, Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker entered Jabba the Hutt’s palace on the fringes of the Northern Dune Sea.

**Author's Note:**

> The food, dances, planet, references, everything is from Legends and in [Wookiepedia.](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Main_Page) Wookiepedia has an unsourced note that Sienn'rha's eyes are red, but they aren't specified in any profic to be, so I took liberties, since Twi'leks aren't supposed to have red eyes according to other sources! If you're confused about [lekku,](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Lekku/Legends) click on that link to learn more than anyone could ever need about tchin and tchun and the rest.


End file.
